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The Super Blogger Club Roll of Honour:

Monday, January 02, 2006

A Neon Buzzard Soars

He nursed nervously smoothing imaginary wisps ofcandles and he loosened his gloved old hands. The underside of a Troll's lairis no shelter from the cold.

He stared without seeing.A trolley rattled past,if conjured like a fresh poemwritten of fresh fish, liquer, and dogs on strings.

The shelf of snow everywhere is delicate,a coruscating patchwork of the dimly lit, whilst a lively young girl's great mind is leavingslowly wrestling a conundrum, She claimed she grasped,painted steel, muttering in her lips.

The steady gaze of winter's sky is a witness as like a neon Buzzard her soul climbs.The door leading to her Light flickering,Full of hope...

From allies and pathways, she left and disappearedIn his ebony pathways, the receiver, with his cupped hand took her slim fingers cradling. Heaven's doors, finally they split as the Neon Buzzard soared.

11 Comments:

The visuals from your poem peek through like wedged veins of gold. It is a sensitive dirge that teases my curiosity. I remain mystified and so I will be traveling back to look again upon it with pleasure.

Thank you for your visit to my page and the wonderful 'words' that you've given me.